The City Cats Page 4

  5

  Escape

  PINKIE’S KITTENS WERE growing fast. She was occasionally able to leave them long enough to go hunting to supplement the diet of scraps provided by Lizzie. Pinkie wasn’t as strong nor as adept a hunter as Sammy. Duck were beyond her but she could still pin down a pigeon, and small birds such as sparrows or starlings were comparatively easy. She would carry her catch back to her den and her little tabby and white kittens would cluster around her, hungry and demanding. Pinky could see Sammy in every one of them and at times she felt sad. She couldn’t understand why he had abandoned her and she still expected him to return to her one day. Then what a surprise and a welcome he would have! But, with the kittens nestling about her, she would soon forget him again in her need to remain watchful and protective towards her little ones.

  She gave them names. The male she called Little Sammy after his father. The female kittens she called Moss and Fern in memory of Quartermile Field. ‘Your father would be so proud of you,’ Pinkie told them over and over again. ‘One day he’ll come to see you and when he does he won’t want to stray again. We’ll all live here together until it’s time to go home.’ She continued to think in terms of going back to Quartermile Field, although quite how this was to be accomplished she didn’t begin to know. She believed they would find a way when Sammy returned. In the meantime the weather steadily improved and there were no alarms, other than Sammy’s absence to worry about.

  But things were changing. In the milder weather the frozen ground thawed. The frost and ice turned to water. Everything in the park became sopping wet and underfoot the park was marshy, with a coating of slimy mud. To make matters worse it rained frequently. Pinkie found it increasingly difficult to keep the kittens dry. The bamboo shrubbery was thick and almost impenetrable but the leaves dripped and Pinkie’s den grew wetter and wetter. She herself lost her prettiness. She was no longer white and her fur was never dry. She tried to shield the youngsters from the incessant dripping with her body, but when she left them to collect food there was no way she could protect them. She would come back to find the three of them all in a huddle, miserable, matted and mewling plaintively.

  ‘Oh, poor kittens, poor tiny kittens, what am I going to do?’ Pinkie wailed as she licked them vigorously with a rasping tongue. ‘I must find something better for you, I don’t know where.’

  The waterbirds irritated her tremendously. Their enjoyment of the conditions as they dipped and splashed in the lake, cackling and screeching to each other, drew nothing but contempt from Pinkie. ‘Stupid, stupid birds,’ she growled at them.

  ‘I must look elsewhere,’ Pinkie told herself. ‘The kittens will perish if we stay here. Oh Sammy, where are you? We need a shelter. But how can I leave here before you get back?’

  Sammy’s forced captivity dragged on. If he hadn’t attempted his acrobatics his shoulder would have healed itself and he would have been close to release. Now he had condemned himself to a longer period in Lizzie Reed’s flat. But he didn’t know that.

  For some days he went back to drinking his milk because there was no water. He didn’t enjoy it; it tasted as strange as before. Then he’d fall asleep below the living-room window and usually only woke up if there was a loud noise outside or if he was hungry. Every so often the black cat would return to the pavement overlooking Sammy’s prison and voice a taunt or two for amusement. However, as long as Sammy drank the milk, he didn’t hear him.

  Eventually Lizzie came to the end of the pills the vet had given her and she rang up to enquire if the cat would need any more. She was told that the treatment should not be continued, that Sammy’s injuries should have healed by now, and that he should be well on the way to a complete recovery. Lizzie explained about the new injury. The vet said it was unfortunate but not entirely unexpected since a feral cat was bound to chafe at its confinement and would want to escape. He suggested Lizzie put a lead on him and take him outside now and then to explore.

  ‘I don’t know if that will work,’ said Lizzie. ‘He’s rather wild and he wouldn’t enjoy being on a leash. But I’ll try anyway.’

  Yet there never seemed to be an opportunity when it wasn’t raining. The first weekend that came along was wet and dismal. Sammy was a little less frustrated when Lizzie was around because she spoke to him and fussed over him. But when Monday came and he was left alone once more he couldn’t contain himself.

  He ate his food during the first half-hour of Lizzie’s absence. Then he looked around for something else to do. He sharpened his claws on the kitchen door. His claws scythed across the painted wood, leaving deep scratches. His leg, he was sure, was healed. He ran into the bathroom, intrigued by the sound of a dripping tap. The water didn’t hold his interest for long. He jumped down from the bath without a mishap, ran into the living-room and skidded to a halt by the window. The black cat, taking advantage of a lull between showers, was staring down into the flat.

  ‘Don’t tell me you still haven’t found the way out?’ he sneered at Sammy. ‘What do you do all day?’

  A low growl began in Sammy’s throat but he didn’t answer.

  ‘I’ve seen you,’ the black cat teased, ‘curled up like a kitten with your head on your tail. You ought to sleep a bit less, you might find out something!’

  ‘You’d better not say any more, Fatty,’ Sammy warned him in a voice harsh and menacing, ‘or you’ll live to regret it.’

  The black cat grinned a cat grin. ‘What are you going to do, Master Sleeper? Try and dream your way out of here?’

  The cat’s contempt was the last straw for Sammy. His claws tore at the carpet, but it was too tough to yield much to his exasperation. He turned his attention to the settee and attacked the cushions, tearing strips out of them. After that he paused, his temper only a little cooled by his effort. ‘I’m going to get that fat self-satisfied animal,’ he swore to himself. ‘And it’s going to be tonight.’

  When it was early evening he positioned himself by the front door and waited impatiently. The rain poured down outside, flooding the pavements and road. Sammy didn’t care a jot. At last he heard Lizzie’s footsteps and he made ready for flight. The key was in the door; it turned; the door opened. Sammy dashed out as if he had been fired from a gun. In the darkness the startled Lizzie didn’t even see where he went.

  ‘Oh Puss!’ she cried. ‘Come back, you don’t know where you are.’ She gave a little sob. She knew the very last thing Sammy would do would be to come back. He was gone for good, and into a strange environment where he could never hope to find his little white companion again. She shut the front door with a tearful expression. It was a while before her tears allowed her to discover the destruction wrought by Sammy’s temper.

  Sammy’s main concern all day had been to teach the black cat a lesson. Of course now, in this downpour, he was nowhere about. Sammy’s priority, therefore, became to find shelter. He sprinted under the nearest parked car, muttering to himself, ‘The weather won’t save you, Fat Cat.’

  Under the car he had time to reflect. Pinkie came quickly into his thoughts. How was she coping in these unpleasant conditions? Once he had redressed the taunts of his neighbour he must get back to her. But how? Sammy pondered.

  Across the road were some tall railings. There were no houses on that side. Sammy saw emptiness and a blackness deeper than the sky, a blackness that reflected the lights from street lamps and lighted windows, making the reflections bob and ripple in the rain. He was looking at the Regent’s Canal.

  When the rain slackened to a softer beat Sammy moved. He ambled across the deserted road. The water fascinated him. It stretched in either direction as far as his eye could reach. A chord was struck in his memory. He remembered the stretch of water along the edge of the park. This looked remarkably similar. He began to believe that, like the stream near his old home in Quartermile Field, this water could lead him back to Pinkie and his previous haunts in the park. But first he had to deal with the black cat. . . .

  Sammy h
ad the advantage of surprise. The other cat would be thinking he was still in the flat. There was nothing to be done now. It was night-time and the black cat was nowhere around. Sammy contented himself with a little exploration. His instinct told him which direction to take along the canal side and, even though he only walked a short distance, he could feel unmistakably that he was walking towards Pinkie. The pavement sloped up to a junction. Here the road was crossed by a much wider and busier one. The canal ran underneath this road. So Sammy knew he’d have to cross it to regain the waterside. He watched the traffic. It didn’t seem too daunting. He turned and padded back towards Lizzie’s flat. He sat on the pavement outside her living-room window and looked down at what had been his prison. Lizzie had pulled the curtains and Sammy gazed at the yellow rectangle of light. It was a strange feeling to be outside the very place where he had so often sat looking upwards with such intense frustration.

  He passed the rest of the night alternately ambling and resting. When daylight returned he hid under a car and waited for Lizzie to leave the flat. He was surprised to see her come out carrying a plate of food. She looked up and down the road as if uncertain where to place it. Finally, she opted for a spot against the railings by the canal. Sammy watched her walk away. She turned her head frequently, always hoping to catch a glimpse of the tabby cat she had sheltered and whom, uncannily, she believed to be still in the vicinity. But Sammy stayed hidden.

  ‘What a kind person she has been,’ Sammy mused. ‘I haven’t repaid her very well for her kindness, although I did try to be friendly. Even now I’ve escaped from her she still thinks about me. If only she hadn’t kept me shut in all the time. We could have been friends, good friends. I don’t really understand humans.’

  Lizzie disappeared and Sammy crept from his hiding-place to examine what she had left him. There was a generous portion of tinned meat on the plate. He had some thoughts of leaving it. He had made the break from her care, but he knew if he didn’t eat it another animal would, and immediately he was reminded of the black cat.

  ‘Mustn’t waste it,’ Sammy murmured to himself. ‘I shall need all my strength.’

  When he had finished the meat Sammy stood for a moment licking his chops. He licked a paw and washed his face. Because of the good food provided for him over the past few weeks he felt generally fitter and stronger than he had since the summer. Of course there was his shoulder injury but that gave him very little pain now. He felt ready for anything. He watched a couple of cars pass and then strolled back across the road. It was a fine, clear, bright morning. It was simply a matter of waiting for the black cat to appear.

  Sammy knew where he lived. He had followed his scent during the night to the next house but one. He had gone right up to the front door where the scent had been very strong. And he had listened. The animal’s voice, responding to its owner’s, had been easily detectable from within. Sammy watched the front door now. After just a short while it opened. The black cat came out, stretched, yawned and sauntered down the path to the pavement. Sammy stole back underneath the parked car. He was tense and excited. The black cat turned and walked towards Lizzie’s flat. It stopped outside and Sammy knew it was relishing another opportunity to taunt him. He crept out from the car and sat down quickly behind the animal’s black back. The cat sensed something was there. Its head turned. Sammy smiled a cat smile.

  ‘So – we’re on equal terms now,’ said the tabby. ‘Both on street level. I’m sorry to deprive you of your source of fun.’

  The black cat swallowed hard. Its tail swished and it glanced to one side as though weighing up the possibilities of flight. ‘How did you –?’ it began.

  ‘Escape? Easy. I stopped sleeping and made a plan. And now I am my own master again.’

  ‘What – what do you intend to do?’ the black cat murmured. It was very nervous.

  ‘Oh – get even, just as I promised,’ Sammy replied coolly. ‘So come on, Fat Cat. Let’s see what overfed pets are made of round here.’ He remained motionless, waiting for the other animal’s first move which he guessed would be an attempt to run away.

  ‘I – er – haven’t any particular quarrel,’ the black cat ventured to say. ‘You mistook me. I was only joking with you before. Wouldn’t it be better to forget your grievances?’

  ‘That’s not how I see it,’ Sammy growled. ‘Come on, coward, make me move.’

  The black cat was riled by the insult. It hissed at Sammy. Then Sammy sprang forward and the two cats tussled, biting and clawing at each other furiously. The black cat was heavy but Sammy very soon knew that it had no real fighting ability. He bundled it over on to its back and held it down with teeth and four sets of claws. The black cat trembled. It hadn’t imagined this tabby could have proved so savage. Sammy was like a young tiger. He seemed to have the strength of two animals. All fight and pride went out of the black cat and it waited for Sammy to decide its fate. For a few moments Sammy retained his crushing grip. Then suddenly he relaxed.

  ‘Pah! You’re not worth bothering with,’ he spat with the most supreme contempt. ‘Get up and go back to your cosy home and pampered lifestyle. And make sure you tell the other softies on your patch that Sammy, King of the Vagabonds, is about and to steer clear of his path. You see, I’m free to travel where I want to now and I don’t want anyone to get in my way.’

  The black cat ran without a word, expecting every moment to find the tabby on its tail. But Sammy had no intention of following it. He’d taught the creature a lesson and reckoned that, if all the cats dwelling in this type of environment were as sleek and plump as that one, he, Sammy, could already count himself as being without challenge.

  6

  Toby

  HOWEVER, SAMMY HAD misled himself. Not all the animals in the city environment were spoilt pets – far from it. But he was yet to find this out. Pinkie had already attracted the interest of one of these other city dwellers who, like Sammy, called themselves their own masters.

  It had happened like this. Pinkie had been determined to find drier quarters for the kittens. Moss, Fern and Little Sammy were looking more and more bedraggled day by day and Pinkie found it impossible to keep herself clean. One evening, out of desperation, she left the kittens mewing on their saturated bedding and left the park by the entrance where she and Sammy had first come in. She was certain there must be somewhere better, somewhere drier, amongst all those clustered buildings, where she could make a snug home for her little family. She didn’t think any of the kittens would reach adulthood unless she moved them.

  The buildings that backed on to the park each had a garden or yard. Some of these gardens were maintained, others were wildernesses. In one of these yards connected to a shop, the owners had disposed of all the unwanted boxes and cartons that came into their premises. These were piled up in a corner underneath a sheet of corrugated iron attached to the wall, and were mostly dry. In her exploration of the yards, Pinkie came to this one quite soon and was very excited. Any one of the boxes offered a perfect shelter for her and the kittens where they could keep dry and comparatively warm. Some of them had packing materials such as straw or paper inside. The yard seemed to be quiet enough, she observed. She hesitated no longer. There was everything she wanted here. The spot was even close enough to the park to enable her to bring food back for the kittens when they grew bigger. She ran back through the darkness to the bamboo shrubbery to fetch the first of the kittens.

  She found them all safe. She picked up Moss by the scruff of her neck and slowly, carrying the kitten in her mouth, she made the return journey. Moss hung limp and passive against her mother’s chest as Pinkie ran. A kitten will do this instinctively when carried, to enable the parent cat to move away from danger with the least difficulty and with maximum speed. Pinkie deposited Moss in the chosen box and raced back for the second kitten. Fern was soon on her way to join her sister. Pinkie was leaving the yard for the third time to pick up her last kitten when a strange voice spoke to her out of the darkness.


  ‘I’ve been watching you. How many more have you got to bring? I could help, you know.’

  Pinkie froze as she tried to locate the owner of the voice.

  ‘Up here. On the wall,’ she was told.

  She looked up. A burly-looking grey tom with eyes that gleamed green in the moonlight hugged the wall coping as he stared down at her.

  ‘Have – have you been there all the time?’ Pinkie whispered, very much on her guard.

  ‘You haven’t noticed me?’ the male cat asked with surprise. ‘I’ve been watching you. It’ll be nice for old Toby to have a bit of company.’

  ‘Toby? Company?’ Pinkie echoed, uncertain of her next move. ‘Do you – live here?’ She dreaded the answer. She wanted no strange tom near her kittens.

  ‘Hereabouts,’ he answered cheerily. ‘It’s a good spot, isn’t it? We all need dry quarters. Be just right for you and your little ’uns.’

  ‘Are you Toby?’ Pinkie answered with a sinking heart. She didn’t know whether to fetch Little Sammy or to take the other kittens back to the bamboo thicket. Which was safer now?

  ‘That’s me,’ replied the tom in answer to her question. ‘And who are you? You’re a bit special. I haven’t seen anyone quite so quick and nimble as you for a long while,’ he added.

  Pinkie was almost flattered. But she was in a dilemma. She couldn’t risk leaving Little Sammy any longer on his own. Yet would his sisters be secure when she turned her back?